


Clinton's Weddings

by Hannibal_Winchester



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Swearing, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Planning, everyone loves steves ass, pop culture references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 09:08:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2575970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannibal_Winchester/pseuds/Hannibal_Winchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically a countdown to Clint's wedding. Tony's planning a stag do and everyone admires Steves' ass. Vague Tony/Steve. I had to pause writing this to watch Taxi Driver and Django Unchained. Blatant use of Tarantino film references...<br/> I really can't do summaries. So sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clinton's Weddings

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so the whole "Hermann and Dr Roberts" thing is really ridiculous. I just needed some reason for Barton's wedding to be disrupted. And apologies if the German isn't correct. I used Google Translate.

It was here. It was finally here. The day that Clinton Francis Barton had been waiting for since he was young. His wedding day. To none other than Natalia Romonova, aka, Natasha Romanov (The Black Widow to those unfortunate enough to cross her).Clint had been planning this wedding since he was in the circus. Obviously, certain details had changed, such as the identity of his wife. Also the fact that Clint no longer wanted trapeze artists to swing down the aisle carrying the rings. Clint also had to pretend that he didn't want to ride a white horse down the aisle but he knew that Natasha would never have allowed it. Also, he knew that Stark would probably have laughed at him. But the wedding that Clint _was_ allowed to plan was still pretty awesome. Even Nat agreed. But there was one thing that he had promised her.

 

*** _Four weeks until the wedding. Location: Stark Tower***_

 

“No bow and no arrows” Natasha was looking at him in that stern way that made him want to do whatever she told him to avoid being hit. Not that he'd ever tell her that so he usually pretended to argue, just so she'd think he wasn't whipped. “Whaaaat? No bow? Aw come on!” “No. Absolutely NO bows and NO arrows. Zilch. Ni odin.” **_Yeah, saying it in Russian isn't gonna help me understand you. You know that my Russian is pretty limited._** “In which case, you can't wear your suit and no spider bites.” Natasha paused and looked at him. Clearly she didn't expect him to have his own conditions. “Fine. No suit and no Spider Bites. A good compromise. It's only fair.” Clint just grinned in that smug manner he usually wore when he took down more people than her on a mission. She scowled at him and marched off so Clint went to go find Tony and Steve.

For once, Tony wasn't playing with his suits or robot butlers, he was lounging on the black leather sofa and playing Black Sabbath _very_ loud. Clint could hear the vibrations of the stereo speakers as Tony Iommi's kick ass guitar solo thundered through the air and Ozzy's verse of _“... Generals gathered in their masses... Just like witches at black masses...”_ rang through Clint’s head as he tried to remember the name of the song. “Hey Stark, what's the name of this song again. It's familiar but I can't place my finger on it.” Tony stared at him as if he was mad, which could be possible after all his years in the circus. “Please tell me you're kidding, right? It's 'War Pigs', the political version of 'Walpurgis'. They had to change the lyrics because people thought that they were “too Satanic” or bullshit like that.” Clint laughed. Talking to Tony usually ended in either a tale of drunken escapades or a brief lesson in the History of Rock Music. “Where's the Frozen Wonder?” he asked. Tony sighed, “He's sulking in his room. Stormed out of here muttering about “music these days” and “what the heck is the need to play it so loud?” He kinda pisses me off sometimes.” Tony had wandered over to the bar by this point, as if remembering what Steve had said made him need another drink. It probably did, knowing Tony. “Aw leave him alone. He's just a pensioner.” Tony sniggered at that and then turned the conversation to a topic Clint was hoping to avoid, “So when's your stag do gonna be?” Clint groaned. He'd been blackmailed by Tony into choosing him as his best man. “What? Don't tell me you're not allowed a stag do?” Clint glared at him. “Of course I'm allowed one, I just don't want _you_ planning it. I'd like to remember my stag do, thanks.” This made Tony look exasperated, an expression he usually held when helping Thor and Steve understand technology. “Then what the fuck is the point of having a stag do?” Clint sighed. He'd never win this argument. “Fine, but you can't get so wasted you nearly black out. My shoulder still hurts from the last time I had to practically drag you home.” “Hey, I wasn't _that_ bad” Clint ignored Tony's feeble protests. “Tony, you were asking JARVIS why he never comes round to visit you, why Thor has such “awesome eyes” and I think you may have smacked Steve's ass.” What Clint didn't mention was how bright red Steve had turned. **_It's between those two, whatever 'It' is._** Tony looked alarmed by this information. It was clear he didn't remember any of it. “D'ya think that's why he's been acting weird with me?” “Who, Steve or Thor?” “Steve.” “Oh, 'cause I was gonna say, Thor didn't seem to mind you hitting on him.” “Shit, do you think it's too late to apologise to Steve?” “What? Oh, erm... Yeah I guess so. Anyway, no pissup stag do. Ok?” These words seemed to pull Tony out of whatever deep thoughts had been floating around that crazy brain of his. **_Probably something to do with Steve. Or Steve's ass. It is pretty distracting at times. Like when we're on a mission and he's running ahead.. Aw shit, what was I saying?_** Tony hadn't noticed his distraction. “Erm, fine, yeah. I'm... gonna... go. Ass stuff... LAB... Lab stuff...” **_Yeah, he was thinking about Steve and his ass. But then, who doesn't?_**

****

*** _The night of Clint's stag do. Location: some sleazy strip club in New York. It's probably called Foxy Babes or some cliché shit like that. I dunno. It's one week before the wedding.***_

“Why am I here again?” Bruce seemed genuinely perplexed as to why he was sitting in a booth in a strip club with a shot of Sambuca on the greasy table in front of him. Next to him, Thor was gazing wide eyed all around the room muttering “These taverns you have on Midgard are... unusual. We have nothing like them on Asgard....” Steve however, was staring determinedly at the glass of whiskey in his hand, as if pretending he was in another place, or another time. He was blushing, and had been since he was dragged into the club by Tony. “You are here, Brucie boy, to shelebrate... shel... shelebrate bird brain's last few daysh of freedom...” Tony slurred, completely sloshed out of his brain, and leaned onto Steve in an attempt to get closer to Bruce. Steve looked uncomfortable by this, so Clint decided he needed rescuing. Pulling Tony off Steve ended up with Tony leaning onto Clint instead and wrapping his arms around him, hugging him tight. “You're sho good to cuddle with, Clinty. We should do it more often.” Thor laughed heartily. He claimed that these “puny Midgardian drinks were no match for the strength of Asgardian mead” but he was obviously lying. He was looking bleary eyed after a couple of whiskies and a shot of Sambuca. Because of the Super Serum, alcohol had no effect on Steve so he was looking awkward and kinda distraught. **_Poor guy, can't even distract himself with alcohol. I wish Thor would shut up._** Thor was regaling Bruce with some kind of long winded tale about hunting or tavern wenches. Hunting tavern wenches? That can't be right. They're only trying to make a living. “Tony, I think it's time to go.” Clint said, much to Bruce and Steve's relief. “B...But you didn't have a * _hic*_ lap dance.” “I don't want one. Besides, I think everyone wants to leave anyway.”

 

Getting Tony out of the strip club and into a taxi would've been harder if he wasn't refusing to let go of Clint. He had to be coaxed into the taxi with promises of pizza. It was a very arduous taxi ride back to Stark Tower, mainly because Thor couldn't grasp the concept of taxis and had to be told what they were and that they did indeed make sense. “Hey, Mr Taxi Man...” **_Oh God, what the HELL is Tony going to ask him? “_** Do you have a gun? Like in that Robert DeNiro film because that ish a fuckin' aweshome film we should watch it when we get back.” The taxi driver seemed amused by this, as if drunken billionaires always asked him that question. “Sure I do, never know who's gonna turn up in ya taxi. Ya gotta be careful on the streets of New Yoik.” His New York accent was slightly grating, but Clint was generally pissed off by this point. **_Why the fuck can't Thor understand the fucking point of taxis? TO FUCKING TAXI PEOPLE AROUND!!! The clue's in the fucking name._**

****

It was left to Bruce and Steve to pay the taxi driver, as Tony was still clinging to Clint and couldn't even locate his left foot, never mind his wallet, and Thor didn't have any money on him as he didn't understand the Dollars to Whatever-the-heck-they-use-as-currency-in-Asgard ratio. Once inside though, Clint calmed down. They took the lift up to Tony's movie room. “Hey JARVIS... J... Could you find Taxi Driver in your storage of movies... an'... an' play it?” JARVIS emitted what was the AI equivalent of a sigh, “certainly, Sir.” Clint managed to get Tony settled down on the sofa whilst Steve went to make a bowl of popcorn. Bruce wasn't a fan of Robert DeNiro and so he went to bed, apologising to Clint for his early departure. Thor had found some blankets and was happily settled on a bean bag. Steve had returned from the mini kitchen next to the darkened home cinema, placed the popcorn on a coffee table, and then curled up on a leather recliner. Tony cuddled up to Clint once again, this time under blankets, and someone had produced a tub of Ben and Jerry's. **_My 'manly' stag do has turned into a girly night in. We'll be painting eachothers nails soon and braiding Thor's hair._** Clint didn't mind though, and was soon pulled into the world of taxi driver, Travis Bickle and Iris, the young prostitute.

 

*** _Six days before the wedding. Location: the cinema room of Stark Tower***_

Clint woke up and found that he couldn't breathe. This was because Tony was partially curled up on Clint's chest. **_Shit, my head. Feels like the whole fucking circus is parading around inside. Wait... Is Tony sucking his thumb? I gotta get a picture of this!_** After having successfully captured this hilarious moment, Clint looked around the room to check on his friends. Thor was snoring loudly on the floor, having fallen off the bean bag at some point during the night. To no one's surprise, Steve was already up, showered and making pancakes in the little kitchen next to the cinema room. Steve usually made pancakes but no one minded as they were always delicious. Clint managed to manoeuvre Tony off him without waking him up, which wasn't difficult. Tony always slept deeply when he'd been drinking heavily the previous night. “Er... JARVIS?” Clint always felt weird talking to JARVIS, as if he wouldn't listen to him. _“Yes, Mr Barton? How may I help you?”_ “Do you know where I can get some painkillers or something? I got a major headache.” _“Of course. In this particular kitchen there are paracetamol in the top drawer under the microwave.”_ “Thanks.” Clint managed to find the painkillers and he left them out, after taking two, since he figured that Tony and Thor would definitely need them later. “Pancakes?” Steve asked, poring pancake patter into a frying pan. “Sure, thanks.” Steve grinned at him, “How's the head?” **_Smug bastard._** Since alcohol didn't affect him, Steve also didn't get hangovers. Clint glared at him, “It's clearing up now.” Steve grinned again and was about to speak but he was interrupted by a loud groan from the cinema room. Thor had woken and was in a pretty bad mood. As was Tony when he woke up about half an hour later. “Fuck, Clint, I didn't think you wanted a pissup. It feels like Angus Young just smashed his guitar over my head.” Clint laughed, which seemed to infuriate Tony, “Tony, _you_ were the only one who got pissed. Well, you and Thor.” Thor looked defiant at this. “The puny ale of Midgard is no match for the might of Thor!” He quickly stood up, then slowly sank back down, clutching his head. **_What were you saying? Oh “Mighty” Thor? Hehehe._**

The rest of the day was a much more subdued affair and Clint mainly stayed on his floor, as to avoid Stark and Thor.

 

*** _Four days until the wedding. Location: A shopping centre in New York***_

 

“Stark? Stark? TONY! Do I have...? Have I got...? Shit it's four days. FOUR FUCKING DAYS? Have I got ties and buttonholes for the grooms men? The brides bouquet? Bridesmaids dresses? Is the cake sorted?” Clint shouted down the phone to a bemused Tony. It was obvious the stresses of planning a wedding was finally breaking the most laid back Avenger. _“Hey, Bridezilla, calm down. All the groomsmen are wearing blue ties with some sort of purple flower for the buttonhole. Nat's bouquet is sorted, red roses and those purpley flowers. You aren't having bridesmaids and yeah, the cake was sorted months ago. They're delivering straight to the venue. Everything's fine.”_ But Clint was convinced something was missing. Probably his white horse. Stupid Russians and their hatred of pretty horses. Of course white horses are manly. Gandalf has a white horse. There. Case closed. **_Purpley flowers? Excuse me? They are called Primula Auricula. So HA!_** It wasn't that Clint was particularly passionate about flowers, he just took wedding planning seriously. Maybe he should start up a business? 'Clinton's Weddings'? It did sound a bit odd, not to mention all the piss taking he's get from Stark. And Thor. Hell, even Steve and Bruce would probably mock him relentlessly. Anyway... Clint still couldn't shake the feeling that he had forgotten something. Something important. **_Well shit. I'm gonna end up having a panic attack over this wedding because I've forgotten something important and Nat's gonna kill me oh shit oh shit she is pretty fucking scary when she's mad and I can't even..._** Taking deep breaths, Clint managed to regain control of his breathing and slow down his heart rate. He decided that the best thing to do would be to get back to Stark Tower, grab a beer, and watch a film. Something violent, preferably by Quentin Tarantino. **_Django! I'll watch Django Unchained. That film is fucking fantastic._**

****

*** _Two hours later. Location: Stark Tower. ***_

The Avengers (with the exception of Natasha, of course) were sat around one of Tony's many giant TV screens, ogling Jamie Foxx in a Stetson whilst riding a horse. I mean, who doesn't like to ogle Jamie Foxx? He is one smooth motherfucker. Leonardo DiCaprio was also receiving his share of ogles. And don't tell anyone, but Clint also found Christoph Waltz rather attractive. Not with the long hair, but definitely when he has a beard. He is just so charming, with his cute German accent! After watching an awesome movie with brilliant quotes ( _“I count six shots, nigger.” “I count two guns. Nigger.”)_ , and after a few beers, Clint was definitely feeling better.

 

*** _The night before the wedding. Location: Some old, abandoned, run down, desolate, creepy ass apartments somewhere in New York. The kind used as a crack den, or by pimps or shady folk like that. ***_

“Vell, Herr Doktor, vhere ist der reliable energy source you promised?” A pale, old man blinked up at the tall German, who could only be described as a Gestapo officer, despite it being 70 years since WW2. He was blond haired, blue eyed, and looked rather similar to Graham Chapman, from Monty Python, but with a duelling scar down his left cheek and a monocle in his right eye. Who the fuck wears monocles nowadays? Anyway, the German, let's call him... I dunno... Hermann. Hermann made quite the imposing figure, which is one reason why Doctor... Roberts... Doctor Roberts cowered before him. The other reason was because Hermann had raised his arm, as if to strike Dr. Roberts across the face. Which he did. “Answer me! Vhere ist der energy source? Herr Doktor, I grow veary of these monkeyshines. If you don't answer me, I vill be forced to shoot you. Somevhere painful, like der kneecaps, or der bollocks. And at this range, I'm a real Frederick Zoller.” Dr. Roberts didn't look at all thrilled at the thought of being shot in the balls from quite a close range, but then, few people would. I suppose you're wondering who the fuck Dr. Roberts is, who Hermann is, and what the fuck is happening, I shall explain. You see, Dr. Roberts was a poor scientist who, due to economic difficulties, had been made redundant from a small company run by a larger company that was owned by _Stark Industries_. Dr Roberts, after being made redundant, tried to make money by selling company secrets to _Rasant Blitz,_ a German company that hoped to one day rival _Stark Industries._ Hermann worked for _Rasant Blitz._ After a while, however, Dr. Roberts had run out of secrets and so started to lie to the German company and claimed that he knew the secrets of a self-sustaining energy source. Naturally, _Rasant Blitz_ was interested but Dr. Roberts failed to produce any calculations or algorithms regarding the energy source, hence why Hermann was interrogating Dr. Roberts. “Ah, I do believe zat you are lying to us. Zat zere ist no energy source.” Hermann raised his black leather-gloved hand and backhanded Dr. Roberts across the face. Slumping pitifully to the floor, Dr. Roberts' breathing had quickened. “No! Wait!” he cried out, “There is talk... I have heard...” He trailed off. “Vot have you heard, Herr Doktor?” “I have heard tell of... of rumours... about _Stark Industries_ and that is powered by an entirely self-sustaining power source...” Hermann's eyes lit up with manic glee. This was it. This was the information he had travelled hundreds of miles to hear. He'd deal with Dr. Roberts after he made a quick phone call to his superiors...

 

*** _The day of Clinton Francis Barton and Natasha Romanova's wedding. Location: A white marquee in the streets of New York, outside of Stark Tower. ***_

The streets were empty of the general public. S.H.I.E.L.D. had managed to close off the roads nearby and divert the traffic around the wedding. It was like one, gigantic street party, which is pretty awesome. There was a red carpet leading up to the altar, where a minister stood to wed the two beloveds. There were bouquets of flowers (Primula Auricula and red roses, if you're particularly interested) in vases aligning the carpet. Rows of seats had been formed for the guests, not that there were many; just the Avengers, Directors Fury and Coulson, a few agents (including Maria Hill) and some of Clint's old circus chums. Clint waited nervously at the top of the aisle. Suddenly, music started playing to announce the brides’ arrival. It was “Be my Baby” by The Ronettes. **_She is such a softie at heart_** Clint thought, as he grinned to himself. He turned to look at her and his jaw dropped. She. Looked. Stunning. Well, more so than usual. Natasha had picked her dress herself. It was white lace, strapless with a sweetheart neckline and the skirt went in then flared out at the bottom, in a fishtail style. Natasha had curled her hair and then piled it up into an elegant bun. A few stray curls framed her face. She had a small diamond tiara, with matching earrings. She looked truly mesmerising. She reached the top of the aisle, the music faded out and the minister began the ceremony.

 

But suddenly, about halfway through the ceremony, thirty thugs dressed head-to-toe in black military wear swarmed the marquee, rifles out and aimed at the guests. “Ve are here for Herr Stark.”, a harsh German accent cut through the air. “Herr Stark? Is that me?” Tony “innocently” asked, smirk playing on his lips. The German shoved his way through riflemen and glared at Tony. If looks could kill, 6 million would be dead. **_The fuck is this about? Who the fuck is this German cunt and why the fucking hell is he crashing MY... erm... MINE AND NAT'S wedding?????_** “Excuse me, Kraut? Why the fuck are you interrupting my wedding? Why not wait and kidnap Tony afterwards?” “Gee, thanks Clint.” “Aww, don't be like that, honey. Love ya really.” “Love you too, Birdbrain.” This gay banter seemed to piss off the German even more. “SILENCE. If any of you Schwanzlutschers think of moving, or even speaking, ve vill shoot you in der kneecaps.” If you're wondering why people are always shot in the knees, I shall enlighten you. According to Reservoir Dogs, the two of the most painful places to be shot are the kneecaps and the abdomen. Anyway, given that the majority of the guests had training in self-defence and knew how to kill a man (or woman, depending on the situation) at ten paces, no one was bothered by his threats. “Now zen, Herr Stark will accompany me und my men outside to disscuss business. Then, vonce ve have talked, ve vill leave you in peace.” There was silence, until “I'm tired of these motherfuckin' Germans at this motherfuckin' wedding!” Fury shouted, as he slammed his elbow into the German closest to him. This was the signal for the wedding guests to reach for whatever concealed weapons they had brought with them. Clint dived under the altar to avoid a hail of bullets, re-emerging with his bow and a quiver of arrows. Natasha looked at him, grinned, and ripped off her dress, revealing her body suit underneath. Her bouquet had been hiding her Spider Bites from the public eye. Clint laughed “This is why I love you” They then proceeded to kick ass in their first fight as a husband-and-wife team. Hermann had been flung into the chairs and had Tony's fists pounding into his face “Never. Try. To. Steal. My. Technology. Ever. Again.” His words accentuated each punch. Bruce had been ushered away from the commotion so the 'Other Guy' didn't wreck the whole street. Steve was muttering something about “the last time I beat up Germans, they were followers of a genocidal maniac and a guy without a face.” That was a reference to RedSkull, if anyone was wondering. Clint had to pause a while, just to admire Steve's ass whilst he was punching people. **_Damn, that's one hella fine piece of ass. Do he got the booty? He dooo._**

 

 

*** _A couple of hours later, after the mess has been cleared up. The Avengers have been victorious. Location: 'Party Deck' of Stark Tower. ***_

 

The alcohol is flowing and Clint is leading a chorus of Tom Jones' ' _Delilah'_ whilst stood on a coffee table. He didn't care what anyone thought. Delilah is his favourite song, hands down. After all, Tom Jones is the original sex bomb. Nat was sitting and rubbing her aching feet. She'd taken her shoes off after the First Dance (Barry Louis Polisar's ' _All I Want Is You'_ ) and had been dancing since. Thor was dancing with Jane, who had been invited to the evening do. Tony was singing loudly, one arm slung over Steve's broad shoulders. Steve didn't seem to mind. In fact, he was resting his head against Tony's. Cute. **_So are they a couple couple? Or are they just close friends? Who the hell knows with Tony? And Steve is actually a fucking mystery. He doesn’t talk about past relationships. I bet he had a thing with Bucky…_** _“…WHY WHY WHYYYYYY DELILAH?And soooo before… they come to breakdown the door… forgive me Delilah I just couldn’t take anymooore..”_ So what it isn’t a “wedding” song. If Clint likes it, he can have it at his fucking wedding. With Natasha’s approval, of course. Mrs Natasha Barton...

**Author's Note:**

> Rasant Blitz= Fast Lightning  
> Schwanzlutschers= Cocksuckers


End file.
